


A Small Price to Pay

by orphan_account



Category: Common Law
Genre: Fluff, Gen, I Don't Even Know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:50:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know, for having the flu you're more of a pain in my backside.”<br/>“Don't be like that, baby.”</p><p>Travis is sick, Wes takes care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Small Price to Pay

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written 8/29/12 over on my personal dreamwidth account.

Travis Marks was _never_ late for work.  
  
That's not to say he never beat Wes to the station, but he valued his career enough to actually be on time, despite what his carefree nature might suggest.  
  
So when Wes noticed that Travis still hadn't shown up nearly an hour into their shift, it started to be a little disconcerting. He fully expected Travis to waltz in any moment now to apologize about how whatever sexcapade he had the night before made him lose track of time.  
  
Actually, he was honestly expecting this to be the case. But for now, Wes relished in the quietness and proceeded to finish up paperwork from the case they solved yesterday while occasionally dialing both Travis's cellphone and his landline trying to see where the hell the idiot could be.  
  
An hour turned into two, two turned into three – and there still hadn't been hide nor hair of his partner. Wes tried to brush off the concern that was starting to manifest, but with every phone call that went unanswered that resolve was faltering.  
  
This wasn't like Travis, and if he didn't have a good explanation as to why he was suddenly blowing off phone calls then Wes was definitely going to shoot him.

No, _scratch that_ – he was going to kill him and hide the body.

* * *

  
Lunch Hour shouldn't have involved a welfare check on the man, and honestly – Wes had no idea why he felt obligated to even swing by Travis's apartment to check on him. He could busy eating a nice salad and actually getting shit done in the department right now.  
  
Still, that didn't meant he didn't pull his gun out as a precaution and knock on Travis's front door, seeing if the man would even answer the door. When there was hardly the sound of rustling from inside, Wes tried the doorknob, finding out the door was unlocked.  
  
For being one of the most decorated detectives in the LAPD, Wes concluded that Travis was a _fucking idiot_.  
  
“Travis?” Wes opened the door and peered inside, finding the apartment immaculate as usual. The disturbing part was how quiet it was, whenever Wes was invited over there was always some sort of noise going on. It was almost as if something were waiting to happen. “Trav, I swear to God if you're trying some stupid stunt I'll let Jonelle have her way with you.”  
  
He still didn't receive an answer, and the ball of worry that had started growing at the station began to increase in size. Wes proceeded to search the apartment, gun still drawn just in case he came across... _ **No**_ , Wes wasn't going to even going to assume his partner had been murdered in his own home.  
  
Although if the front door was just left unlocked...  
  
The last room to check was the bedroom, and for some reason Wes hesitated. It'd be rude to barge in and discover that Travis was simply in the middle of having sex with some random woman he brought home, but at the same time he hadn't picked up his goddamn phone all day.  
  
Without another moment's hesitation Wes opened the door and rushed in. What he saw wasn't a murder scene, nor was it Travis in the middle of some random sexcapade.  
  
No, Travis Marks was fast asleep in bed, looking simply as if he had flopped on it without a care in the world. Upon further inspection, Wes noted that Travis was still wearing the clothes he wore yesterday, which only fueled the concern more.  
  
I mean, the poor guy was still wearing his Doc Martens for crying out loud.  
  
“Travis!” Wes strode over to the bed and went to shake his partner awake, semi-irritated that Travis decided he could sleep in while everyone busted ass at the station in his absence. “Come on Cabbage Patch, get up before I shove you off the bed.”  
  
A faint groan came as a response, along with some mumbling Wes swore sounded like ' _five more minutes..._ '  although with Travis's face buried in a pillow it was hard to discern anything he said.  
Leave it to Travis to be serious about sleeping the day away and not his work.  
  
“Tra _vis_!” Wes slapped his face slightly in order to get the man awake. “Get your ass up.”  
The heat radiating into his palm from Travis's cheek though is what caused the bubble of concern he had to erupt hundredfold. A quick feel of his forehead brought the same result.  
  
Wes's cool hand seemed to pull Travis out of his slumber, eyes slowly scanning the spinning room and landing on the too-familiar form of his partner with a scowl. It took him a while to speak up, his throat sore and dry.  
  
“I don't recall giving you a key.”  
  
“Well, I didn't even need to speak to your landlord to get a key.” Wes clipped back. “Turns out you still haven't learned how to lock your own door. Seriously Travis, anyone could have waltzed in here and robbed you while you're busy snoozing the day away!”  
  
“Still doesn't give you any right to waltz in here, man.”  
  
“I'm a _cop,_ and I had reasonable cause to come do a welfare check when it's – 2:03pm and my partner not only hadn't shown up to work, but refused to pick up his phone.”  
  
Travis simply groaned and attempted to roll over to sleep some more. His entire body hurt and if Wes would just let him sleep, he'd feel better in no time.  
Of course, as his luck would have it – Wes returned and stuck a thermometer in his mouth, sitting on the bed with a cross expression etched on his face.  
  
“Why didn't you tell anyone you're sick?”  
  
Why didn't he? Let's see, it couldn't have been the fact that the minute he got home last night he immediately went to bed and didn't wake up until Wes woke him up. _Nope, not at all._  
  
Instead, he simply ignored his partner and attempted to glare holes into the man's skull.  
  
“Because I ain't sick. I slept in, can't a man get a break for once?”  
  
“Well...” Wes puffed his lips out in thought, only to turn back to him with a bemused expression as he pulled the thermometer out. "The fact you have a 102.7 degree fever tells me otherwise. Now again, why didn't you tell anyone you were sick, or - more importantly, why didn't you call in sick?"  
  
Travis simply groaned again, weakly kicking at Wes to get him off his bed. "Because I came home and went to bed, and didn't wake back up till you came barging in. Now if you're satisfied that I am alive, you can go back to work."  
  
Wes looked at him again. “And have you tell the therapy group how I was heartless to leave you suffering like this? No chance in hell, Cabbage Patch.” He got off the bed. “Go get in the shower, it'll make you feel marginally better.”  
  
“What, are we goin' to play mother hen all of a sudden?” Travis couldn't help but crack a smile. “Because I could really use being tucked in and read a story to make me feel better too, Mama Mitchell.”  
  
“You know, for having the flu you're more of a pain in my backside.”  
  
“Don't be like that, baby.”  
  
“I could easily just dump you on the steps of the nearest Urgent Care center, if that's what you want.”  
  
Travis shut up soon after that. If there was anything about Wes Mitchell he knew of, it was to not push his buttons too much. Especially when the man is offering to take care of him while he's feeling like death warmed over.  
He moved to get up, and he realized the hard way that he had moved too quickly, the room starting to spin.  Travis probably would have face-planted into the wall if it weren't for firm hands grasping his arms, steadying him.  
  
“Easy there...” Wes's face was filled with alarm and concern, not stepping away until he was convinced that Travis wasn't going to collapse on him. “You okay?”  
  
To be honest, Travis wasn't okay. That dizzy spell made his head pound and his already nauseated stomach felt worse. Not trusting said stomach to not projectile vomit all over his partner's face, he simply nodded weakly, a grimace on his face as he made his way towards his bathroom to take that shower.  
  
Wes felt bad for Travis. For all intents and purposes, he knew that Travis was simply putting up a front so no one worried or fussed over him – But he could tell the other felt like crap, and despite the fact he still had his quick wit – it was clear Travis was rather out of it.  
Giving Travis some privacy, he stepped out of the bedroom to make a quick call to Captain and to see just exactly what was in the apartment that he could make that would be easy on Travis's stomach.

* * *

The shower did make Travis feel somewhat better, it just didn't help with the fact his head still hurt and his stomach still was doing that obnoxious stunt of not being certain if he needed to throw up or not.  
  
At least he wasn't feeling as bad as he did coming home last night, which Travis would take as a very good sign.  
  
He made the daunting task of changing into a pair of sweatpants, and then proceeded into the living room so he could curl up on the couch and let his fever-riddled brain melt further with trashy reality television.  
  
Travis didn't expect Wes to still be there, he figured that once Wes was happy that Travis was up and about, he'd simply head back to the station and finish with work for the day.  
Instead, Wes was busy in the kitchen making God-Knows-What, and the smell was making his stomach churn even more.  
  
His groaning as he plopped on the couch seemed to get Wes's attention, seeing as how he was taking strides to check on Travis and let his inner mother hen fret.  
  
“You doing okay there?”  
  
Travis simply glared up at him weakly before burrowing into the throw pillow. “I feel like I've gone 10 rounds with Mike Tyson and then was body-slammed by John Cena. How the hell do you _think_ I feel?”  
  
“I will take that as a ' _no_ '.” The wrestling analogies went over Wes's head, but he got the gist that Travis still felt awful, and – judging by the flush in his face, it'd be a while before he felt 100% better.  
He stroked Travis's forehead gently, to help get him to relax. “Think you're up for eating a bit? I made veggie soup.” A groan of refusal. “Travis, I know you feel like crap right now but you need to eat least try and eat.”  
  
“Wasn't groaning about that.” Travis said weakly. “I was groaning at the fact it smells like someone died in my kitchen. I know you're looking for ways to get rid of me, Wes – but you don't need to poison me.”  
  
“It's the same exact soup I made Alex when she came down with a terrible cold, so stop whining.”  
  
Travis rolled his eyes and went back to the comfort of the coolness of the pillow underneath him. He could have sworn he felt Wes pulling a blanket over him and kissing his forehead gently, but chalked it up to simply a feverish hallucination. He didn't even realize he had fallen asleep until Wes was shaking his shoulder gently to get him awake.  
  
“Travis. Travis, come on – time to wake up.”  
  
Travis found it difficult to wake up a second time, much too comfortable to even budge. He does eventually open his eyes, Wes hovering above him with a steaming bowl in his hands. Slowly, Travis sat up, glancing at the bowl as it was set down on the coffee table.  
  
“That looks like you just took some mud and water and stirred it about.” Travis made a face as he stirred the soup a little bit. “And put vegetables in at the last minute.” Disgusting.  
  
“Glad to see you feel well enough to insult me again.” Wes said wryly, setting down a sleeve of saltines just in case.  “Now eat before I force you to.”  
  
Wes didn't need to tell him twice, taking the bowl and gingerly sipping at the soup. Despite the fact it looked disgusting, it was rather pretty tasty. Not to mention Travis hadn't eaten anything in nearly 24 hours and he was hungry – nausea be damned.  
  
He got halfway through the bowl of soup before his stomach started churning again, setting the bowl down and sitting back into the couch with his eyes screwed shut to an attempt to keep himself from throwing the soup back up.  
  
Travis hated being sick. Absolutely hated it. There wasn't an accurate definition as to how he felt when he was, although 'death warmed over' was close enough – and when he got sick, he went down for the count.  
His head hurt, pounding in rhythm with his heart. His body ached, and he felt chilly – which was always strange considering he had a rather high fever.  
  
Seriously, whoever invented being sick would meet their demise because Travis will shoot them when he feels better.  
  
Thank God that Wes had picked him up yesterday morning instead of him taking the motorcycle. Travis had a feeling that considering how awful he felt when he got home last night, he'd probably had crashed his bike before he made it home.  
  
When the nausea subsided, Travis nodded his head at Wes and opened his eyes slightly. “Thanks man, but I think if I eat anymore of that I'll puke.” He nibbled on a few saltines to get the taste out of his mouth, which seemed to settle his stomach even more. “You can go now, I can take care of myself.”  
  
“ _Right,_ which is why you've been doing nothing but sleeping since I dropped you off last night...because you can take very good care of yourself.” Wes sat down on the couch beside Travis, fixing the blanket around his shoulders. “Captain gave you the rest of the week off to fight this off, and because he thinks it'd be therapeutic for the both of us – ordered me to take care of you.”  
  
“Man, sometimes I miss how Captain was before therapy took a hold of him.”  
“You and me both.”  
  
The two were silent for a while, letting the television drone on in the background. Wes checked to see if Travis's fever had broken any at some point during that, satisfied when it was a few degrees cooler than when he had checked earlier. Of course he knew it could easily spike again, but for now he'd take it.  
  
Travis on the other hand, felt sleep tugging at his conscience again. He went back into a laying position, resting his head on Wes's lap, which the latter didn't deny him of.  
A part of him was thankful that Wes decided to stick around and make sure he was okay, but seeing Wes let him lay on his lap, caressing his forehead idly – that was different. Though, it was a good different.  
  
“Hey...Wes?” Travis looked up tiredly at Wes, who simply glanced down at him. Taking it as a sign to continue, he smiled before closing his eyes again. “Thanks.”  
  
Wes couldn't help but smile back, continuing to rub his partner's forehead idly as he drifted back off to sleep. As much as he liked this quiet and grateful side of Travis, he knew it was simply because he was feeling awful and wasn't used to having someone around to take care of him.  
  
He'd feel more satisfied with doing this small deed, but he knew that once Travis was back to being himself he'd tell everyone in therapy about it, and never let Wes live it down.  
  
Of course, that's always a small price to pay.  
  
He just hoped he didn't catch what Travis had, otherwise he would really kill him.


End file.
